"He would not hear my voice, fair child, He may not come to thee; The face that once like spring-time smiled On earth no more thou'lt see. "A rose's brief bright life of joy, "And has he left the birds and flowers ? And must I call in vain ? And through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again? "And by the brook, and in the glade, O, while my brother with me played, Mrs. Hemans. THE BETTER LAND. "I hear thee speak of the better land: Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! O where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtleboughs?" "Not there-not there, my child!" "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" "Not there-not there, my child!" "Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?— Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy : Dreams cannot picture a world so fair : Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom : For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, -It is there-it is there, my child!" Mrs. Hemans. FAREWELL TO THE WOODLANDS. Farewell to the woodlands, farewell to the bowers, Farewell to the home of our happiest hours, Our cares and our duties forbid us to stay, But our thoughts shall be with you wherever we stray; And we'll long for the summer to smile on the plain, To bid us return to the woodlands again. And joyous to us shall the memories be That cling to the scenes where our hearts were so free ; If care should perplex us, if frown, sorrow should Or weariness follow the moil of the town, We'll think of the days when our faces were bright, With the rambles of morn, and the songs of the night; And cherish the hope, amid winter and rain, That we'll come back with summer to see you again. Mackay. THE MILLER OF THE DEE. There dwelt a miller hale and bold, Beside the river Dee; He work'd and sang from morn to night, And nobody envies me!" "Thou'rt wrong, my friend!" said old King Hal, "Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be ; For could my heart be light as thine, I'd gladly change with thee. And tell me now what makes thee sing While I am sad, though I'm the King, The miller smiled and doff'd his cap: I own no penny I cannot pay ; I thank the river Dee, That turns the mill that grinds the corn, "Good friend," said Hal, and sigh'd the while, Farewell! and happy be: But say no more, if thou'dst be true, That no one envies thee. Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,— Such men as thou are England's boast, Mackay. |